


Some Days

by twilighteve



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, i have no idea what max's dad's name is, i'll stick with dad puckett sorry not sorry, photograph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilighteve/pseuds/twilighteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry to ask this, Max, but is today… ?”<br/>“The day she died? No. But some days, you just… remember.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Days

The door slid open and he stepped inside, glancing at the rows of packaged food, toothbrushes and toothpaste, soaps, and glitters, mentally cataloging them while also wondering just what kind of system his father used to put the things on the rack. There seem to be no system whatsoever, resulting in rows of glue and pens finding its way in the middle of food and bottled drinks and packages of potato chips between screwdrivers.

“Hey, Max!” his father greeted from his spot, sitting on the stairs. “How was school today?”

Flashes of different colors of spectral energy and numerous ghosts and spirits occupied his mind for a moment before he realized that it was too weird to explain to anyone, even his ridiculously eccentric father. _Maybe this is why Mr. Spender told me to keep this a secret._ “Just the usual stuff,” he settled.

“You said you wanted to go out tonight, right?” Dad asked. “Something about an extra club activity?”

Max nodded. “My teacher will probably pick me up, like that one time.”

“That time before you cancelled our trip to Baxborough?”

“Yeah.” He walked up the stairs, carefully maneuvering around his dad while doing so. “I’ll be upstairs, so can you call me when they got here?”

“Or I can just send them up instead!” Dad offered.

“Sure, whichever works,” Max answered, not really paying attention. He hadn’t been totally focused all day long. He even almost got his cap torched by a more destructive spirit today. He wondered what was wrong with him.

As he reached the living room and his eyes fell on the photograph of his mother, epiphany dawned on him. _Ah, so it’s one of_ those _days._

The faint sound of running water in the bathroom told him that Zoey was bathing, and he knew instantly that it meant the bathroom was out of commission for at least an hour and a half. How she managed to spend so much time in the shower was beyond him. He sighed and put his backpack down on the floor and curled up in one of the couch, taking the photo of his mom and staring at it.

“Hey, Mom,” he whispered softly. _How’re you doing?_ he continued the one-sided conversation inwardly.

He wondered briefly why he felt like this out of the blue, but then realized that the feeling came and went without any prior warning – it had never given any sign, and it wouldn’t start to. Sometimes he would go through his day feeling like there was lead in his stomach, weighing down and crushing, and everything everyone did would grate on his nerves, and his grade A sarcasm would jump to SS grade and went from _coolly sassy_ to _hurtfully scathing, tone it down, man._ It would make him feel guilty, and it made him feel even more awful, and the end result was that he would feel even crappier, and the fact that he had no idea why he was feeling that way definitely wasn’t helping.

And then he’d get back home, saw his mom’s picture, and everything just made sense. The first time it happened, the flood of tears didn’t stop for nearly two hours, and Dad and Zoey were worried because he wouldn’t come out of his room, not even for pizza. Later, he would have a better reign of his tears and hunger would always win out, but solitude was always his friend.

The tradition of sitting still and inwardly having a one-way conversation with his mother’s photo was a fairly new, though, and it was one unique to him. Neither Zoey nor Dad had ever disturbed him when he was in the middle of it. They each had their own way to cope, their own ritual that none of them would disturb. It helped to grieve alone, sometimes.

The faint sound of PJ calling him from his room sounded. “Mr. Max, you’re home!”

He ignored it. He could hear some muffled words PJ spoke, probably conversing with Lefty (how the ghost managed to have a conversation with a hand of all things was beyond him), before he spoke again, “I’ll be in your room, Mr. Max.”

Honestly, Max had no idea how long he was in that position, curling up in the couch like some kind of cat while staring at the photograph like it was the only thing holding him to the world.

Well, close. It was his anchor to his mother, the last link he had to her. The family had other mementos, sure, most of which were the things Mom forged herself, but for some reason the photo was just more powerful a reminder to his time with her than others.

The silent conversation went on. He didn’t care enough to check just how much time he was spending, staring at the picture. He was too busy recounting new memories and reliving old ones, too busy remembering the incident that took Mom’s life, too busy remembering that in the first few days he was in Mayview he almost ended up meeting her in person. He shuddered a little. Isaac was right about Spender being a crap club teacher.

He was so engrossed in it that he didn’t notice a group of middle schoolers arriving at the living room and observed the room from the stairs, nor the sounds of two men talking pleasantly at the store. He didn’t notice it when they called either, or when they approached him. He never noticed them remarking about the spirits inhabiting his house, either, or when they peeked at the photograph he was holding. He only realized that they were there when a hand tapped the edge of the photo’s frame.

He jumped in surprise when he saw the finger tapping and looked up. “Oh… you’re here already,” he remarked.

“We called you many times but you didn’t hear,” Isabel frowned. “That was weird.”

“Sorry,” Max responded simply, feeling no need to elaborate. He put the photo on the table, ignoring how the others stared at the photo for a while and how realization dawned in their faces. “I, uh. I’m not ready yet. What did Mr. Spender tell us to bring again?”

“He just told us to wear something warm, nothing really important,” Isaac told him. “Weren’t you listening?”

_I wasn’t._ “Right. I forgot.”

“Ed chose to bring a lot of things though,” Isabel grinned, pointing at Ed’s backpack. “He said things might get boring, so better bring some things to entertain us with.”

“I got some UNOs, monopoly, this Jumanji-like board game, – “ Ed listed, rummaging through his backpack.

“Yeah, thanks, lots of games, got it,” Max held up his hand. He really didn’t feel like talking to people. “I’ll just take my bat and wear a thicker jacket then.”

“Oh,” Ed muttered, dejected, and a pang of guilt took over in Max’s chest. “Well, don’t take too long, okay?”

Max groaned. “Sorry,” he told him. “Just… not in the greatest mood today. We can, uh, play your game later? Maybe?” It was a crappy excuse of an apology, but Ed beamed as soon as he heard it.

“Yeah, sure!” he answered with a wide, wide grin.

Max shuffled to his room, taking a fresh, thicker jacket and discarding the one he wore right then. PJ floated next to him, seemingly wanting to say something but unsure of what.

“Sorry about earlier, PJ,” Max spoke up instead. “I’m having a bad mood.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, Mr. Max!” PJ shook it off, but he looked genuinely relieved. “Are you going with your friends?”

“Yeah, some late night club activities,” Max explained.

“Superhero stuff?” the excitement in PJ’s voice was unmistakable.

“I guess,” Max couldn’t help the smile that overtook his lips. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Alright! Be careful, Mr. Max!”

He walked out of his room to see his friends crowding over the photograph he had been holding.

Isaac noticed him first. “You mom looked pretty,” he commented.

“If she were here she’d slap you with a bashful laugh,” Max replied.

Isabel wrought her hands together. “Sorry to ask you this, Max, but is today…”

“The day she died?” Max continued the question when Isabel’s voice died, and her nod confirmed his suspicions. “No,” he answered. “But some days, you just… remember.”

Silence hung in the air as Max stared at the photo again, this time with Ed, Isaac, and Isabel’s gazes lingering on him. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, then he turned to them. “Come on,” he told them with a smile – not a hundred percent genuine, but hopefully good enough. “I can’t imagine what kind of hijinks Spender will pull with my dad if they’re left together for too long.”

“What? Why?” Isaac asked with a frown, genuinely confused.

“My dad’s really weird sometimes,” Max explained, unsure of how he could explain it better. “And Spender’s… Spender.”

Ed snickered. “I won’t complain about seeing it though.”

“Of course you won’t,” Max grumbled. “Me and Zoey have to clean everything up. Not you!”

Isabel laughed aloud at that, tact completely forgotten. The laugh proved to be contagious as Ed and Isaac soon joined her, and Max couldn’t help but let out some chuckles, as well.

As they neared the stairs, Isabel slapped a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Talk to us the next time you’re feeling down, okay? It’s not like we’re going to laugh at you or anything.”

Max felt his throat clogging up at once, but he swallowed the lump and nodded. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Okay, let’s go now,” Isaac patted Max’s other shoulder twice before descending down the stairs. “I wonder if we should buy some snacks first.”

“Ooh, I want some Apple Thangs!” Ed bounced on his heels, quickly following Isaac. “And potato chips. That sounds good.”

“Wait, what about some of those Embrace Darkness Marshmallows?” Isabel left her place next to Max and caught up to the other club members. “They’re crazy good! Take those too!”

For a moment, Max stared at them, wondering just how they could move around as though they owned the place, but then he sighed, shaking his head and smiling a little. What else could he expect from them?

“Max?”

“Coming,” he called out to his friends. He spared a last glance at the photograph on the table. His mother’s familiar smile greeted him, but somehow it seemed softer, gentler, as if nudging him and telling him to go.

He smiled and turned, going down the stairs and catching up to his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> A sudden plot bunny that attacked me and refused to leave me be. Basically this is how I think Max would do sometimes when he misses his mom; stare at her photograph and tell her about his day. I planned to integrate this into Pnat Hogwarts AU at first but I decided that this looks better in the canon universe.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it! Have a great day!


End file.
